


Run, rabbits, run....

by kitbaker123



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst and Humor, First Contact, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Mission Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-11 18:39:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1176523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitbaker123/pseuds/kitbaker123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirk & Spock, and a handful of unfortunate Redshirts, are on a diplomatic away mission... they find out that they aren't so much INVITED to a banquet... they are actually on the menu... We are talking dog food, here. Well, our boys aren't going to take THAT lying down, are they?  Jim and Spock are ridiculously protective of each other... Written for the 'Hey Sweetheart' challenge and with a massive dose of 1960's TOS in mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Run, rabbits, run....

Jim’s face was highly coloured, Spock noted with concern, as the Captain squeezed into the Turbolift moments before the doors closed in his face. This indicated the possibility of dangerously high blood pressure... maybe a visit to Sickbay was... 

“You’re the MOST annoying half-Vulcan in the ‘fleet! _Gods!_ " 

Spock realised, then, that it was not a ‘medical condition’ causing Jim’s complexion to appear florid but... something quite different and potentially more dangerous to his _own_ health. His spine stiffened, involuntarily, as he acknowledged the direction in which this conversation was likely to turn. Some totally unwanted, autonomic response, caused his next words to leave his lips without forethought; ONLY Captain James T. Kirk could disturb his control, to such an extent...

“I did not _‘run’_ , Jim, and I am of course the _only_ half- ”

“No! Stop it! I get that, Spock, and so do you! Don’t you play dumb with me, Mister!”

Jim’s colour deepened and he drew his brows down into a glare.

“Spock,” a soft warning in his voice, “you do get why I’m _pissed_ at you, don’t you?”

Spock looked across to the Captain’s hand, firmly pressed upon the controls, and preventing the Turbolift from continuing its journey to the Bridge. They were expected to join Alpha Shift in 3.75 minutes and Spock had never been late for shift. Ever. He met Jim’s eyes and realised the utter futility of continuing this ‘discussion’. His shoulders dropped fractionally and, as they did, he saw Jim’s gaze flicker to them and the acknowledgement of potential ‘victory’ lighten his companion’s expression. 

“Very well, James: I apologise most sincerely for my thoughtless actions earlier today.”

Jim smiled, not _quite_ sweetly, and reached out with his free hand to gently touch Spock’s sleeve.

“Okay, Babe, just... well... just never do anything like that again, please?” 

“I will not. You have my word.” Spock sounded completely emotionless and Jim, well... Jim _hated_ that he had made that happen. It was amazing to him that Spock, in private, now spoke to him in relaxed tones sounding fond and even, sometimes, half amused! Okay, twice then. He was totally counting. Anyway... 

“Look, Spock, it’s simple,” Jim sighed, “I just don’t want you signing off on my reports for me, while I’m asleep, or tidying up my-” 

“Respectfully, I require much less sleep than you and, in addition, your... ” Spock’s slight hesitation melted the remainder of Jim’s irritation, “...your _clothing_ was dishevelled. Captain.” 

Jim’s blue eyes warmed and Spock tried to turn his own eyes away from the exotic _temptation_ of them; he failed, of course. “Don’t call me ‘Captain’, Spock, except when we’re on the Bridge or... in bed, sometimes, and especially _not_ when you’re talking about sorting out my underwear drawer! That’s just... weird.”

“Indeed.” Spock’s face remained coolly rigid. “I apologise again, for recycling some of your, no doubt, emotionally important mementoes without your prior knowledge and consent. I concede that I, too, would be equally disconcerted if you acted in such a way in regard to my own possessions. I conducted myself in a disrespectful and illogical manner.” 

Jim eyed Spock carefully: he didn’t want him to believe that the items he had thrown away (okay, _recycled_ then) were things that were particularly important to him, just for him to understand that the action (without any sort of prior discussion) was unacceptable! He didn’t even bother to consider the 'reports issue’ any further... he knew that his First would never overstep that particular line again. Spock, though... Spock kept items in his quarters that were to be cherished; even more now than they were before the destruction of Vulcan. This whole thing needed to be kept in perspective.

Jim took a deep breath and met Spock’s gaze.

“Look. I’m sorry that I seem to be blowing things out of proportion.” Jim paused to consider his words. “I overreacted, in the heat of the moment, and I admit that. I would’ve thrown those things out myself, Spock... when I next saw them, or even just remembered that they were there. I didn’t need you to do it for me but... I can see why you would have been disconcerted at what you came across.” Jim’s eyes brightened: “Let’s say, for instance, that I found one of Uhura’s bra...” 

Jim immediately caught the darkening of Spock’s eyes, accompanied by a half step forward, and his jaw snapped shut. Armed with the knowledge of _just_ how possessively Spock felt about him, (Vulcan’s were amazingly frank about that, really) he modified his speech to something less... inflammatory. 

“... ahem, as I was _saying_ : If I found some of Uhura’s ‘undergarments’ in your quarters... even a stray sock... I’d probably just phaser them out of existence before I asked any questions! They’d never even get anywhere _near_ a recycler, to be honest! That was pretty chilled of you, actually. I’m just saying... that I understand.”

Jim lifted both eyebrows and tilted his head towards Spock who looked, well, a bit constipated; but that was pretty normal, _especially_ as they had a shift in under a minute...

“Come on, then, it goes both ways, when we argue, yeah? You get your say, as well? Hit me.” Jim straightened into ‘parade rest’ and he lifted his chin invitingly. Spock recognised the attempt at humour and felt much of the tension leave his body. His voice was not quite perfectly ‘Vulcan neutral’ as he murmured... “Then may I request that, in order for our relationship to maintain optimum functionality, you do not ever call me _‘Babe’_ again?”

“I called you ‘Babe’? Really? Noo... I don’t think so, baby, I’m pretty sure you imagined that.” Jim smirked.

Spock reached out to the controls, deliberately brushing Jim’s fingers with his own as he did so. Jim’s eyes shone with rueful laughter and Spock, well, Spock felt through their touch the bright threads of their mutual contentment and knew that the argument had been resolved...

And so...

Captain James Tiberius Kirk, the youngest Captain in the history of the Federation, and his First Officer, Commander S'chn T'gai Spock Cha' Sarek (although nobody on the ship, apart from Nyota Uhura, actually even _attempted_ to refer to him as that), exited the Turbolift together onto the bridge of _The Enterprise_.

Jim strode from the ‘lift, and for the fleetest of moments, he felt the heat of Spock’s fingers at his lower spine and then... it was gone as Spock turned towards the science station. Jim didn’t break stride but the lingering warmth brought a quiet smile to his face and an extra edge of brightness to his eyes. 

He resisted the urge to reach back and search for Spock’s fingers... it had been well over three months now and Jim, well... Jim was completely head over heels in love with his First Officer. 

It was just a teeny bit of a _secret_ , for now... Jim’s eyebrows drew down. How the HELL had they found themselves in this ridiculous situation; sneaking around in Turbolifts, sharing discreet Vulcan kisses _(touching fingers)_ in the Rec rooms...?

Acknowledging the rest of Alpha Shift, with a series of finger waves and grins, Jim settled into ‘The Chair’ with a contented sigh. He turned his head and caught Spock giving him an almost imperceptible nod, before he stepped up to the science station. 

The initial idea had been to hold back on the crew (including their very scarily smart friends) realising what was going on until they were more ‘settled’ in their relationship. It was... private; _special_. Jim wasn’t so oblivious that he didn’t realise that the momentum for this decision had been supplied by fear. Yeah. His own hang-ups were the problem... He had received the gift of Spock’s ‘highest regard’ (he happily and easily translated this to ‘love’) and he was fucking terrified that outside influences (his brain shoved the ideas of Starfleet, the Vulcan Council... and his MOM back into mental boxes) would rip it away from him. In Jim’s experience, loving meant... losing. He still couldn’t quite believe that he and Spock had been together for almost four months... or that it had all started with that complete fuck up of an away mission, on Phaeta V....

***********

**118 Days Previously**

“Keptin on the Bridge!”

Chekov still sounded FAR too excited about that, Jim thought, but he had never tired of hearing those words. He nodded at the navigator and threw himself down, into the centre chair, asking for “Reports?” 

“All systems are nominal, Captain. Star mapping in this sector will be complete in 5.75 hours.” stated Spock. Jim turned in his chair to give his First Officer a blinding smile, “Excellent, Mr Spock.” The Vulcan felt a frisson of pleasure at the Captain’s praise, which he then worked to suppress. The positive reports continued around the bridge although, Spock noted thoughtfully, as he watched the Captain from the corner of his eye... no other individual received a smile brighter than the one which had been directed at himself. This was... fascinating information.

The next hour or so was occupied, for Jim, with reading and signing off on requisition requests. He was more than ready for the distraction of Uhura’s calm voice as she advised him that there was an incoming message from Starfleet headquarters. “It’s a live conference call, Captain.”

“Put it through to my ready room, please, Lieutenant. Spock, you’re with me. Sulu, you have the Conn.”

Jim sat at his desk, in front of the view screen and, as always, took a moment to revel in the feeling of Spock’s proximity as the Vulcan’s body heat radiated at his side. Jim felt himself flush, slightly, and pushed down a wave of embarrassment; he was acting like a teenage girl, Goddammit. Straightening, he pushed the Comms button and asked Uhura to patch Starfleet through. 

The sight of Chris Pike made Jim’s lips quirk but he still snapped off an exemplary military salute. “Sir! It’s a pleasure to see you.” 

“Stand down, Jim; you too, Spock.” Pike’s eyes flicked between them. “It’s good to see you both, but there’s no time for small talk.”

“Greetings, Admiral Pike. We await your instructions.”

“I’m sure you do, Spock,” the older man smiled slightly, “You’re not so far out from Phaeta V, and they’re asking for Federation representation. That’s gonna’ be you, boys, ‘cause you’re just around the corner from them.”

“Admiral. I have limited knowledge of this planet. Is there anything relevant for you to share with us, before I access the ship’s database?”

“Sorry, Spock, I’ve got nothing more than you have yourself, apart from the recent vid transmission. I’ll be sending that over to you.”

There were a few seconds silence, then Pike grimaced and slouched back in his chair, slightly, as Jim and Spock eyed him with renewed interest...

“Look, don’t hold me to my own particular brand of paranoia but... this planet is rich in Dilithium and has resisted ALL previous attempts at being drawn into the Federation. They do have limited warp capability but hardly take advantage of it. They don’t need to, when the rest of the quadrant circles them like bees around honey. They have made an approach now, out of the blue, at the exact same time that the Federation flagship is the nearest thing around. Just... keep your heads up, boys?”

“Fascinating. This speaks to clear manipulation of events.” Spock’s eyebrow rose.

“Okay, Chris, thanks for the heads up,” grinned Jim. He nudged Spock with his elbow and the pair then gazed at the Admiral with almost identical, innocently blank expressions, and partially raised brows.

Pike eyed them evenly for a moment then his own expression loosened. “Yeah, that there is just weird and very annoying; it’s also _exactly_ why I would’ve picked you jokers for this mission, even if you _hadn’t_ been the nearest ship. If you can freak me out on a regular basis then you’re gonna’ find keeping a new species on its tippy toes a piece of cake.” 

Pike ignored Spock’s intake of breath: he was all too familiar with the Vulcan’s cynical asides, and spoke over any sarcastic comment he had intended to make. “I have a gut feeling that this isn’t going to be an easy ride. Be very careful and... just do your thing. I’m sending you what we’ve got, enjoy the movie...” 

Pike’s hand reached to the side, he didn’t smile, and the view screen turned dark.

Jim and Spock watched the recorded video transmission from Phaeta V: it was short and to the point. The planet’s representative indicated a desire to commence trading, immediately, within the Federation; their very obvious opening gambit the rich stores of Dilithium at their disposal. They requested an early start to negotiations with whichever ‘suitable Federation vessel’ was within range.

“This _appears_ innocuous at first sight, Captain, apart from the rather suspicious timing of this individual’s request. I did find his disposition somewhat... unpleasantly obsequious, however.” 

Jim agreed wholeheartedly. “Yep! He’s an oily bastard and his attitude, if he’s in a position of authority, stinks. If it _smells_ like crap, Spock, then it generally _is_ crap.” 

Spock did not deign to reply but, internally, he resolved to remain at his most alert in order to ensure that no harm befell the Captain. 

He had no idea, none whatsoever, of how utterly and completely that resolution was to fail... 

***********

The bright lights of the transporter beam faded from Jim’s vision, as he materialised on the planet, leaving behind them the inconvenient dark, swirling phantom shapes that accompanied almost every transport. He absolutely needed to get Scotty to ‘turn the lights down’, somehow... that should be a piece of cake, surely, after the whole ‘trans-warp beaming theory’ thing he came up with. Erm, _would_ come up with? 

The scene that met Jim, Spock, and the three security officers making up the rest of the landing party was reassuringly peaceful, at first impression. 

A small group of humanoids, one of whom was a young female, met them. They were dressed in robes and furs, standing perhaps three meters away from the landing party. Jim actually found this close proximity a bit unsettling. In _his_ experience, societies with reduced tech knowledge tended to stand WAY further out from the beaming co-ordinates. The majority of the group stared at them, while a few individuals continued a low voiced conversation, paying the newcomers almost no attention. A frisson of awareness slithered down Jim’s spine. He smiled, his ‘poster boy grin’ in full force, at the group. 

“They’re too close and not... cautious.” Jim spoke extremely softly, yet urgently, behind his teeth and without disturbing his blinding smile at all; he was confident that Spock would hear him. 

Spock did not reply but took a step forward, as he bowed his head slightly in greeting, so that his right side partially covered the area of Jim’s chest where his human heart beat. Spock was grateful that Jim was _also_ experiencing discomfort at the strange attitude of their hosts and that he would, therefore, be on guard. The security detail had taken up their positions behind the senior officers.

“Greetings, Captain Kirk, Commander Spock!” The obvious leader of the group stepped forward, dragging the thick fur trim of his robes behind him. Jim refrained from curling his lip and hoped that Spock wasn’t too upset by the blatant abuse of animals, flaunted in his face. “I am ‘The Overlord’ and this planet welcomes you.” 

_“The Overlord?”_ Jim struggled to keep his expression in check. “Greetings, then, ‘Overlord’. I am _‘The Captain’_ but... I offer you my given name of James Kirk.”

“Aah. Well, then, James Kirk, I offer _you_ , in return, _my_ given name of D’Varek Senk.”

Kirk didn’t need to see the almost imperceptible stiffening of Spock’s spine, close as it was, to realise that something was very wrong; the anthropological roots of that name belonged to a star system VERY far removed from this one...

_“This planet welcomes The Federation?_ Does it, really” Jim pondered, “or do you welcome us to _another’s_ homeworld?”

“Ah, indeed. How annoyingly astute of you, Captain. The government on Phaeta V has been a little insular, perhaps, in the past. They are, even now, quite disinterested in the presence here of the Federation’s ‘Golden Captain’ and his Vulcan First Officer.” His dark eyes turned to Spock. “They wish to please me and were willing to take part in my little... deception.” 

“What’s in it for them?” asked Kirk, “Why are they allowing you to act on their behalf?”

“Oh, Captain, you are so sweetly innocent!” Their host’s surprisingly high pitched laugh rang out, almost light-heartedly. “They trade the Dilithium, with me, in exchange for the baubles of their addictions. That is not your concern... your attention should be fully upon me and... upon my very _specific_ requirements of you and your men”.

“Might I enquire as to the exact parameters of these requirements?” Spock asked. 

Jim could hardly resist the urge to smirk as his First Officer adopted his most chillingly condescending tone, the one that made it sound as though the other party had been voicing the worst of obscenities. Spock, after all, could read a love poem and make it sound like the worst insult, just by the intonation of his voice. He could also read pre-Surakian verse and make it sound like... well, not _porn_ exactly, but something else, something... really hot. Yep, Jim had heard that, first hand. It was part of why he... hmmm. He hastily turned his full attention back to the matter at hand.

“I am interested in Vulcan ‘culture’, shall we say? I have hunted and defeated individuals from many species, on multiple occasions, and now I will challenge a Vulcan to the hunt, Commander Spock. I expect to find the experience most... satisfying.” 

Jim rubbed his hand over his face. He hadn’t realised QUITE how much being the goddamn Federation ‘poster boys’ would push him and Spock into the headlights. This situation was completely crazy and he needed to fix it. Now.

“Kirk to _Enterprise_. Five to beam up.” Jim kept his gaze locked on the face of the self-proclaimed ‘overlord’, as he barked out the order into his communicator. D’Varek Senk looked unperturbed. “You will find that communications with your ship are not possible at this time, Captain, nor will your weapons function in this vicinity.”

The landing party took only moments to verify that their host spoke the unpleasant truth. A chill ran down Jim’s spine and he took a half step forward and in front of his First, almost touching Spock’s side. Shielding his Vulcan’s heart. He was well aware that Spock had done exactly the same, for Jim, only a few minutes ago. 

“This situation is ridiculous!” Jim said, sternly. What he _thought_ , however, was that the whole lot of them would soon be standing toe to toe, if he and Spock kept stepping around each other’s bodies. 

“Spock is not a full Vulcan; therefore he doesn’t fit your insane parameters!” Jim looked at Spock, apologetically, as he spoke. 

“I am fully aware of that and he will suffice... it has taken much planning to bring him here, for the challenge. The others of your species, Spock, are now insular and disappointingly... inaccessible.” Senk’s eyes ran over Spock’s body; he smiled in obvious approval at what he saw and Jim suddenly felt as though he may throw up. _Nobody_ was allowed to look at Spock, like that! 

“Take your Goddamn eyes off him!” Jim’s voice was deadly, and cold. “We are official representatives of the Federation and there will be retribution for any violent action taken against us.”

“No. I think not. We care NOTHING for empty threats from you and your tame associates. You are disabled by your misguided sense of honour. We require you only for the glory of... The Hunt,” was the response.

Jim decided that a change of tactics was in order. “The Hunt”, eh? That sounds a bit... basic.” Jim sneered. “It’s not the sort of thing that we get up to in the Federation, nowadays.”

“Perhaps not, but that is no concern of mine. I have studied your ancient Terran history in detail, Captain Kirk... it is rather less _violent_ than Vulcan’s but so much more... _imaginative_.” D’Varek Senk gestured about him dramatically, with a sweeping arm... 

Jim looked around at the crumbling Gothic castle in the distance, complete with drawbridge and moat; at the manservants dressed in something reminiscent of... was that _chain mail? Really?_

“Imaginative? Huh! Yeah, I can totally see how you’ve taken all those ancient ideas and really... _run_ with them.” Jim’s voice dripped sarcasm but it seemed that he was the only one present who appreciated his wit.

“Thank you, Captain Kirk... I bow to your appreciation of my attention to historical detail.”

Jim rolled his eyes at Spock, who looked completely composed. Oh... _bored_ , even. That was always kind of intensely hot, in these situations... NO! Not thinking about that, just now....

Jim straightened and focused on the group of animals, straining against their chains, several meters away.

“Hounds of the Baskervilles as well, eh?” Jim gestured at the enormous dog like creatures, white foam dripping from their snarling muzzles... “Been dipping into Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s stuff?”

“Baskervilles? No, Captain, I am not familiar with the term. These _predators_ , neither man nor beast, have been created in light of the inspiration cast by your brilliant geneticist, Dr Moreau.” 

“H.G.Wells.” 

“Pardon?” 

“H.G.Wells. ‘Moreau’ was just a character in a book. ‘The Island of Doctor Moreau’ was _written_ by Wells... those genetic experiments he described weren’t REAL!” Jim could barely stand still... was this idiot actually basing research on 20th Century Terran horror stories? He took a deep breath and adopted a slightly calmer tone. “It’s just a story, you realise, completely imaginary?”

“Even if that is so,” Senk said, in an irritated tone, “the writing is most inventive...the inspired idea of a creature with _‘the face of neither man nor beast’_ that is the central premise, is it not? _You_ will be familiar with the term, Mr Spock. My creations, much like you, are genetically engineered; unnatural and not truly belonging on any one world but... fit for their purpose.” 

Jim bristled in fury... “Now look here! Commander Spock may care nothing for your ignorant xenophobic insults but I most certainly DO!” he shouted.

Senk sucked in his bottom lip and looked... annoyed. As if on cue, the pack of hounds started snapping and howling and Jim felt the sweat break out on his forehead. Spock was strong and fast, sure, but could he outrun those things? It didn’t occur to Jim to worry about his own hide...

‘The Overlord’, (that no longer seemed as funny as it had at the initial introduction) reached a hand back behind him, never unlocking his eyes from Jim’s, and snapped his fingers in a clear summons. Moments later, a lone figure drifted forwards. The young woman wore a hooded white gown and the upper half of her body was almost obscured by the dark tumbling curls and tight corkscrews of hair, reaching almost to her waist. On her extended forearms, she carried a book; the tome was heavily bound in what appeared to be antique leather, and it was held out like an offering...

“Belladonna, give me ‘The Guide’.”

The young woman complied and then took a single step back, to stand behind Senk’s shoulder but... Jim’s eyes met hers... and there was a spark there. Intelligence glimmered in the brown eyes almost hidden behind the curtain of hair.

Silence reigned for several minutes until Senk raised his head.

“It SHALL be as it has been foreseen,” he intoned, dramatically. “Captain Kirk and Commander Spock will leave this place to battle the elements, and the hounds, unto death.”

Jim stared at him, in amazement. “Is this a joke? Are you freaking _serious_?” In the strained silence that followed his words, his eyes strayed to the young woman who held herself so proudly before them, displaying no fear... The girl shook her head, a mere ripple of movement beneath her hood _(‘no’)_. Jim caught her meaning; this was not a joke, then. Her right hand reached up as though brushing a strand of hair away but, in the shadows of her hood, Jim clearly saw her tap her ear _(‘listen...’)_ then, on the downward fall, her finger pointed at the fecking ‘Overlord’. The message was clear: _‘This is not a joke. Listen to him.’_

*******

Within a few short minutes, Jim, Spock and the security detail found themselves tethered, in much the same way as the snarling hounds, to heavy wooden stakes sunk deep into the ground. The away team had been heavily outnumbered, by a large group of men, suddenly emerging from the nearby woodland. Those men carried some rather conveniently anachronistic disrupter weapons, in addition to the more predictable crossbows, swords and axes. The landing party had been relieved of all weapons, communicators and other technology, in short order, but not without inflicting some damage themselves.

Jim pressed his bruised knuckles against his mouth and then wiped them across his shirt, leaving a bloody smear. Of them all, only Spock appeared completely undamaged... three of Senk’s men appeared to be sleeping peacefully, a short distance away, where they were crumpled on the ground. Jim knew, from personal experience, that they would each have a HELL of a headache, when they regained consciousness. Spock caught him looking back at him, from the prone bodies, and merely raised an eyebrow.

“Look,” said Jim, to his companions. “Don’t try anything fancy. That’s a direct order from your Captain. Whatever happens, next, I want you to look after your own hides and get to a place of safety. Up a goddamn tree, if that’s the best thing you can find. It’s past check in and the ship WILL be looking for us, now; we just have to keep alive for long enough for them to find us. Do you hear me, Briggs? Xapher? D’Eenton?” Jim eyed them in turn, as he spoke their names, and each member of the away team nodded at him, determinedly. Spock merely stared back at him, when Jim caught his eye. Yeah... Jim knew that there was _no way_ Spock would just look after himself. He _really_ didn’t want any unnecessary heroics from the red shirts, though... speaking of which; “Get those goddamned red shirts off as soon as you get the chance, okay?” 

They all looked up, then, as an armed group of burly individuals approached and unlocked the security detail from their shackles. As they were released, they stripped of their top shirts, and then stood to military attention in front of their Captain and First Officer. In perfect unison, all three of them snapped a sharp salute. “Good luck, Sirrrrs,” said Xapher and then zhe turned away, with the others, to walk with their captors to a spot several hundred meters away.

Jim and Spock sat in furiously impotent silence. 

“Ah! Captain, Commander, here you are! I hope that you are becoming resigned to your fate?”

“Fuck off!” was Jim’s carefully considered, diplomatic, reply.

“Indeed? I appreciate your ‘fighting spirit’, Captain Kirk! Now... let us see what strengths your _crew_ have about them.”

Spock stirred. “Would you care to advise us of your immediate plans for our colleagues?” he asked, almost politely.

“Indeed! They will be released, in sporting fashion, a full five minutes before the hounds. This will present them with the opportunity to find cover, within the woodland... perhaps.” 

Movement caught the corner of Jim’s eye and he turned to see his security officers dashing for the cover of the nearest trees... his heart caught in his throat as, all too soon, three hounds were released and bounded across the grassland towards his crew.

Jim and Spock were spared the sight of the beasts catching up with their officers, as they had just reached the perimeter of the trees. Jim could not see or hear anything but... his gut and his eyes burnt as he kept his gaze fixed upon the point where the crew had disappeared from view. He heard one jagged inhale of breath, from Spock, and then... only silence. He did not look at Spock, nor did he ask anything of him; he was well aware that Spock could hear things outside of his own range. He knew what that momentary loss of control meant, from Spock, and he took deep breaths as he tried to suppress the red haze threatening to overcome his vision.

Senk stepped forward into Jim’s line of sight, as the first baying hound emerged from the undergrowth. The others followed seconds later; if nothing else, the kills had been almost mercifully quick. Jim was startled from his reverie at the sound of Spock’s carefully controlled voice.

“That was not a 5 minute interval. You delayed the release of your hounds by only 3.2 minutes.” 

“Well... don’t believe everything you hear, then, Vulcan!” was the laughing reply. “The dogs will be most stimulated, now, after tasting the first blood!” Jim shuddered as Senk raised his voice: “Recall the hounds!”

***********

The Command Team stood in front of D’Varek Senk: they wore only their black undershirts and Jim had taken a moment to admire the way that the clinging fabric of Spock’s bespoke long sleeves defined his lean muscles, as he had stretched out his arms and legs in preparation for the run. 

“This hunt will hopefully last... much longer than the last. You will both have a ‘sporting chance’.” Senk stated, almost proudly. “The first hound will be released 5 minutes after Commander Spock. The others at ten minute intervals. Captain Kirk, we will give _you_ an additional 5 minute head start as your Vulcan companion is faster, and stronger, than you.” 

“Oh, _really?_ Smarter, too?”

“Of course! He is Vulcan!”

_‘But I am not,’_ Spock thought to himself, with no small degree of satisfaction, _‘anywhere near as cunning as my Captain.’_ He took great hope from the fact that Jim would have additional minutes available, to survey their surroundings and any possible advantages. He did not pause to consider why the idea of Jim Kirk, running onwards without him, simply never crossed his mind.

Shortly after this exchange, Jim found himself running full pelt towards cover at a point to the south of his starting position. His _only_ reason for this, and it was really almost subconscious, was that he didn’t want to run in the direction that most obviously beckoned... something about that screamed ‘sucker’ at him. Jim Kirk trusted his gut almost as much as he trusted Spock. His choice of direction meant that it would take him maybe four minutes to reach cover, instead of merely two or three. Still, his gut was satisfied and his feet flew...

Once under the cover of the trees, he turned sharply east, just within the tree line, and reckoned that Spock, at full speed, would catch up with him in less than three minutes. Like Spock, it never occurred to Jim that his friend would not follow him in order to join forces. They had both implicitly accepted the notion that they ‘had each others back’, some time ago, and neither of them had ever considered the matter further. 

Jim ran on, reducing his speed slightly as the ground began to slope down beneath his feet, and his ears caught the sounds of movement behind him... he wasn’t tempted to look back. If it was Spock then they _really_ needed to keep going and if... well, if it was something else then it was too late for evasion, anyway.

A flash of movement, in his peripheral vision, caught his eye and there was an explosion of relief in his chest as Spock (running as darkly elegantly and efficiently as a panther) overtook him. Jim picked up his speed, again, in response to the silent urging of his friend.

***********

Spock knew _exactly_ how fast, and how far, Jim’s legs could carry him, under normal circumstances. They ran besides each other, frequently, in the ship’s gym. Spock had factored Jim’s inevitable, human ‘adrenalin rush’ into his equations and he had therefore pushed himself much harder, in his initial sprint, than he would have under less pressing circumstances. He felt an urgent need to catch up with Jim, even if this led to earlier depletion of his own resources. 

He heard the Captain, crashing through the foliage, long before he saw him. He also heard the slowing of his pace _(“No, Jim!”)_ as the lie of the land began to change. Spock pushed his muscles far past the point of extreme discomfort and was rewarded, less than a minute later, with a flash of movement between the trees ahead. He felt a huge surge of... joyful relief, and almost stumbled at the intensity of the emotion but... there was no time for this, they MUST press on. Jim must survive.

As Spock passed Jim, he maintained his pace, ruthlessly pushing his friend on. Spock knew that these initial minutes would make all the difference between survival and... a truly devastating loss.

The ground continued to fall away sharply, until they were taking huge leaps through the air and sliding downwards, digging in backwards into their heels, at every footfall; the distant sound of running water met Spock’s ears. He was, on some level, aware that he was baring his teeth and almost growling with satisfaction. James T. Kirk, the _only_ cadet to ever overcome the challenge of the _Kobayashi Maru_ had, now, located with what must surely be nothing more sheer base survival instinct, a potential haven and escape from their hunters. If he had been capable of it, Spock would have laughed out loud.

Minutes later, he felt his centre of gravity shift beyond his control and, as he began his tumble towards the waters below, he saw Jim fly past him in an uncontrolled fall. His gut clenched as he thought of those human bones and all of the obstacles between them and the lower slopes... 

 

***********

Spock’s sense of hearing returned, before he was capable of any movement. He could hear... cursing. It was strangely comforting but it was a further 1.56 minutes before he understood the reason for that. Jim had survived their fall. There was a sharp nudging at his side and he opened his eyes, gingerly, to see the toe of Jim’s boot tapping against his hip. “Jim. I am awake. What is your physical condition?”

“Oh, thank God! I thought you’d broken your neck, Spock, it freaks me out when you’re unconscious, I just, I... well, anyway. Okay. My shoulder is dislocated and I’m pretty sure one of my ankles is broken...” Jim’s voice faded, somewhat, “How about you?”

Spock took a moment to consider his physical condition.

“I am not in optimal health, Captain, but I have no immediately life threatening injuries. My arms are fully functional and therefore, with your permission, I will attempt to relocate your shoulder before swelling renders your limb completely useless.”

“What exactly do you mean, Spock, by ‘not _immediately life threatening’?_ ”

“One of my lungs is punctured but I am functional and will remain so for... some time.”

_“Some time?_ No minutes or decimal points? You’re... Umm... okay. Not helping.” Jim took a deep breath. “Do it NOW, Spock, quickly, because think I’m gonna shout a lot and maybe pass out for a minute and I really, _really_ , think that we need to get going. Soon!”

Spock cautiously struggled to a kneeling position, VERY aware that several of his ribs were fractured, and then shuffled around to face Jim. He then carefully extended his arms...

...Jim regained consciousness impressively quickly and, then, managed to get himself to his... foot. His other leg was bent back behind him, his ankle at an impressively unnatural angle.

“Okay, Spock. What have we got, between us? You got two good legs? I got one plus... one and a half arms. Everything else is working but it all hurts like a fucker.”

Spock managed to get himself, slowly, to his feet. He turned and his hunched appearance was so far removed from his normal ‘parade rest’ that Jim felt his eyes water. That was probably just grit in them, though...

“Right. We’re totally fucked. You can’t carry me and I can’t walk.”

“We are not _‘fucked’_ , Captain, not yet.”

Jim fought the urge to adjust his pants as Spock actually swore... also, was that an actual _innuendo_...? He shook his head, to clear it. 

“Okay, Spock, let’s look round and see what we’ve got...”

Only a few minutes (and a tiny bit of shrieking) later, Jim was lying face down over a large piece of thick bark, fallen from one of the massive native trees, and barely floating in the shallow waters of the stream. Spock stood as upright as possible, and shoved with his foot at the makeshift ‘raft’.

“Captain, if you could use your arms for steering then I will urge you forward with my feet.”

“Yeah, Spock, let’s go! Goddamn it! I really hope there’s no vid feed of this or we’re NEVER going to live it down.... we’ll look like The Goonies! AAH!!! That was too close, Spock, PLEASE keep your feet away from my ankles! Gods! What a farce!” 

“How the mighty are fallen, Captain.” Spock muttered, under his breath.

Jim continued to grumble, quietly, for a few moments until Spock whispered that he could hear the sounds of pursuit and then... then he closed his mouth and endured. He would endure _anything __if only Spock could survive this shit storm. Himself too; that would be a bonus...  
*******_

A single hound came upon them, first. Spock speared it through the side, using a sharp branch he had snagged on their travels, and Jim cringed as his friend’s face paled to a truly frightening sallow green colour. He realised that his... that Spock had driven himself far past the point of agony and, yet, he understood because... he would have done the same...

The hound was still alive; its torso rose and fell with its slowing breaths... 

“Captain. I must attempt a meld.” 

“No! Please don’t do that!”

“Captain, he said _‘neither man nor beast’_... these creatures may not be entirely... animal. If there are sufficient cognitive processes in place, then contact may be made. In addition,” Spock almost sighed, “It may be possible to determine the method of control exercised over them and to replicate it.”

“No, Spock. It’s too dangerous.”

“Jim... _please_. It would be remiss in me not to make the attempt. We are outnumbered and unarmed... it is my duty as your...”

“ _Hang_ your duty, Spock!” Jim’s voice broke, over the words. “Please, Spock, don’t do it.”

“Ca- _Jim._ ” Spock visibly swallowed. “I MUST attempt this and time draws short: we are as determined as each other and I do NOT wish to lose this opportunity...”

Spock stared at Jim and Jim glared right back... then he recognised the almost frantic desperation in his friend’s all too human eyes. _(Don’t do it, Spock. Don’t be hurt, please be safe. I need you.)_

Jim opened his mouth, crossed his arms, and drawled, “ _Fine_ then, but don’t come crying to ME, you bloody stubborn Hobgoblin, when ‘The Hound of the Baskervilles’, over there, bites your goddamn arm off at the shoulder; or when your brains are bleeding _green_ out of your pointy ears...”

There was a moment of silence...

“Spock?”

“Forgive me, Captain, but for a moment... I believed that the CMO was physically present and that we were about to be delivered from this place. I am somewhat disappointed that this is not the case.”

Jim barked laughter... 

“I trust that you will not repeat the story of my misperception to Dr McCoy, Captain?”

“Hell, no! Spock, I’m flattered. Don’t you tell Bones that I can do that!”

“Sir?”

“It’s gotten me into his quarters, and at his secret stash, enough times that it would be a bit embarrassing to let him know it was me... now.” 

“Jim! Is that at all ethical?”

“Why, no, ‘peach cheeks’, it really isn’t...”

 

*******

“Jim...” Spock said, very quietly, as he dropped his hand down into his lap. 

“Yes, Spock?”

“These beings are not truly sentient but... there is some degree of self-awareness. The _‘Overlord’_ has apparently used some small proportion of DNA from a sentient species, here, and combined it with that of the... beasts.” 

“Are... do they _really_ know what’s going on, Spock?” Jim asked, in barely suppressed disgust...

“No, Captain. There is the potential, at the most base level, for sentience but it will never emerge above the depraved appetites with which the creatures have been programmed. Perhaps, in a neutral habitat, and after many millennia... but... this will not come to pass.

They eyed each other in mutual horror... then Jim shook himself. “We have to MOVE, Spock... NOW!”

*******

When Spock next came to his senses, he and his Captain were lying prone, in a... ditch, perhaps? He had no recollection of their journey to this point and... it was unpleasant, in the extreme, to find himself here. Spock raised his right hand, to his face, and examined it in distaste.

Jim eyed him, carefully, and then took a very shallow breath. The journey downriver hadn’t been smooth and there had been quite a lot of ‘crashing into boulders at high speed’ due to the lack of steering available to them. Jim knew that he was, basically, fucked. Apart from the ankle, there was now quite a lot of damage to his torso (even _more_ worrying was the fact that he couldn’t really _feel_ it anymore)... and he was finding it increasingly difficult to get any air into his lungs. 

“I’m sorry, Spock, about this whole... ‘hunting’ thing. I know he was going on about your ‘Vulcan Heritage’ and everything but... it seemed to me that he was really more keen about getting on the vids. The whole Federation ‘Poster-Boy’ thing? It really sucks.”

Spock turned his head towards his Captain. They looked at each other with no surprise at the situation they currently found themselves in, none whatsoever.

“It is... very dirty, here, Jim.” Spock commented, almost idly, with a worrying tone of _complaint_ in his voice.

There was a moment of silence, while Jim considered his response to an obviously semi-lucid Vulcan who would, in all likelihood, prefer to forget this whole conversation ‘in the morning’; in the unlikely scenario where they would both still be alive to enjoy that chat, of course.

Tossing a mental coin... Jim opted for an ‘Annnoying Best Friend’ response. Spock, with the adrenalin of anger or irritation running through his veins, had a better chance of survival than the chalk white and, frankly, limp specimen lying at his side... 

_‘FUCK! C’mon, Spock!’ he shouted, silently..._

”Mmm, yeah! It’s a VERY dirty and dank ditch, smelling of... dead animals and decaying debris ,” Jim agreed, “and exactly _how_ long have we been here, Mr Spock?”

After a few seconds, Spock’s breathing hitched and his eyes opened: Jim saw the glint of sassy Vulcan in them even before Spock opened his mouth...

“On this planet, Captain, or... in this spectacularly uncomfortable resting place where I am forced to listen to your poor attempts at alliteration?”

Jim shuddered with suppressed (relieved) laughter. He thumped Spock on the shoulder and shook his head, silently. They weren’t sure if the creatures that hunted them had enhanced hearing. 

“Aah. You refer to our ‘resting place’, then. We have lain here for only 0.34 hours, -Captain.”

“Call me Jim. That’s great.”

“Jim.”

They both stiffened, then, as the distant sound of howling floated on the wind.

“Spock. I’m really not happy with our odds, here. We’re unarmed and communications are down. We have no readily available means of self-defence left... apart from our fists. I don’t think they’re going to stand up well against those werewolf things for long, do you?

“No, I do not. Jim.” 

“Oh, well, that’s comforting! Shit! I _knew_ it was going to come to this!”

“You _knew_ it, sir?”

“No! I, well, I _‘suspected’_.”

“Suspected what, exactly, Jim?”

His friend, the Captain, locked eyes with him and stared for a few moments, clearly searching for something in his gaze. Spock did not know what Jim looked for, exactly, but... he was concerned that Jim may not find it. He wished Jim to find the answer to his unspoken question... in _him_. Spock had the vaguely familiar thought, then, that he was somewhat compromised.

“ _I suspected_ , Spock, that we would obviously waste most of our Goddamn fucking time together, being politely friendly officers and all, before ending up at the brink of fucking painful and messy death in some shitty dirty ditch together. And then, Spock, we would look each other in the eye, because we obviously had too many goddamn FRACTURES to cuddle... and... huh... huh” Jim clearly ran out of breath. 

There was a... silence. Spock could not provide a suitable adjective to describe the panicked vacuum pounding at his mind but he knew that his confused heart beat desperately against his broken ribs and that Jim had offered something to him. Something...most momentous. His Katra felt it but his mind... his mind was failing him. He, Spock, must calm himself and... he locked eyes with Jim, and felt his focus begin to return...

Spock kept his breathing in strict time with that of his human friend and... he waited. He waited for some self-revelation or... some clue from Jim? In the end... and he really, well, he could not help himself... he raised an eyebrow.

“Really, Spock? _That’s_ what you’re giving me to hang my last breath on? A goddamn eyebrow?”

Through his light hearted words, Jim’s eyes shone damply and brighter than any star that Spock had ever seen. His breath caught in his throat and he recognised, without doubt, that this was the best (and maybe the last) opportunity that he would ever have.

He reached a careful hand out and wrapped it in the front of Jim’s shirt, twisting the fabric into a knot around his fist. He used that knot to pull Jim towards him whilst ignoring, as best he could, the tiny hitches in Jim’s breathing that gave away the fact of his injuries as he was moved those few inches. Spock, himself, was devastatingly compromised, physically, and Jim was even less mobile than he.

“Spock?” Jim gasped, clearly struggling to bring his breathing under control. “What is it?”

“I... I would gift you something, Jim... my friend. Ashayam.”

“Oh yeah? Really? Is this the right time for exchanging Goddamn _gifts_?” Jim growled, “I’ve got nothing for you buddy, sorry, and what does that word even _mean_...?”

“Yes, I understand that, Jim. I believe that, most unfortunately, we are unlikely to be rescued from this setting alive.”

“Well... don’t mince your words, Spock! Sheesh!” 

Spock waited until their breathing had settled, knowing that this may be the only chance that he would ever have, to offer this, and then... his eyes softened, far past anything Jim had seen revealed before, and then Spock smiled, briefly. Spock smiled. Although it was close lipped and lasted only seconds... to Jim, it was a lightening shot to his heart. That smile was full of heartbreak and, all in a rush, everything became clear to him...

Jim Kirk had seen and catalogued very many (fucking hundreds, his hind brain complained) combinations of Spock’s twitches and ‘barely there’ smirks: he remembered them all. His heart had stuttered, more than once, as he thought that a gesture was about to topple over into obvious amusement, or happiness, but... it never did. He recognised (and was more than familiar with) the slight creasing of Spock’s eyes, the lift of his eyebrows and the tightening of his lips that hid, HID, the smiles from him. But he always suspected that they were there, hiding behind the dark velvet curtain.

Now he saw. Now, he KNEW. 

“Spock....” 

Jim’s hand reached out and touched Spock’s lips. His fingers stroked downwards and Spock allowed his bottom lip to fall open, under the slight pressure of Jim’s fingers...

“Bad Vulcan! That’s my smile, yeah? Just for me? You’ve been holding out on me... been waiting until I was pretty much dead, have you, sweetheart?” Jim’s voice cracked, on the words.

“I am sorry, Jim. I have been... a coward. I was... afraid.”

Jim’s eyes met his, piercingly blue and full of emotion. “So was I,” he said, “so was I, Spock. We were a pair of fools and... I’m just glad that we both know that, now.”

Spock inclined his head a fraction, almost politely, and Jim felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. “I... I feel a bit sick, Spock, and not because of you know,” his hand gestured vaguely at their broken bodies, “Have I read this wrong? Spock?”

Their filthy hands touched and their fingers entangled, painfully tightly. They were incapable of more. 

“No, Jim. You are right. You are right... we were fools.”

The mood of the moment was disturbed, slightly, by the very human sound of a throat being cleared, behind them.

The young woman, Belladonna, stepped into view. Dimples in her cheeks revealed her efforts not to smirk openly at them. “Greetings, Captain Kirk and Commander Spock. May I congratulate you both on your survival, thus far? Your determination is unprecedented and deserves some small reward...." she extended her arm and opened her fist to reveal... two Comms badges. 

Jim’s eyes widened almost comically and his hand had reached for, and accepted them, before his brain caught up with the proceedings...

“I will interrupt the disrupting signal, which is currently blocking your communications but, as we have no common knowledge of the passage of time, I will signal your window of opportunity by ringing the chapel bell. Once only. You will have a short period, as long as you could hold your human breath, to make your connection and be extracted.”

She raised an eyebrow at Kirk... “I am not afraid. Your obvious concern is acknowledged but somewhat... misguided. I have an ulterior motive behind my offer of assistance.” Her lips curved, in a cynical smile. "D’Varek Senk is my Sire and he will not harm me without dire provocation. I will take hold of my _own_ destiny, at an opportune time, and then I will meet with you and your Federation again. I will create this opportunity myself, you understand, and then... _then_ I will look to a better life."

“We will welcome you.” Spock stated... like a vow, Jim thought. He had never looked more beautifully noble, in Jim’s opinion. He understood, without words being spoken, that Spock would carry the debt of their survival with him until it could be discharged. He also realised, with a heart breaking jolt, that the debt was linked to the saving of Jim’s life, not Spock’s own. 

The young woman, Belladonna, gave then a half bow as she melted away into the greens and browns of the foliage...

Then... not too long later, the swirling light of the transporter beam tucked them into its grasp and, as it did, Jim caught a brief glimpse of what may have been... a Vulcan’s magnificently huge and triumphant grin ...

***********

Spock, needing less sustained medical attention than Jim, settled cautiously in a seat next to his Captain’s bio-bed. Jim raised his eyebrows and nodded, encouragingly, for him to speak...

“Jim, I have spoken to you, on several occasions, about the doubtful benefits of watching early Terran holovids involving violence and the irrational expressions of overactive imaginations. Our recent experience has proven that such... indulgence... can lead to, at the very least, disassociation from reality and... in this particular instance, to a complete psychotic break. Do you not agree?”

“No! Come ON, Spock, if we hadn’t watched all that old shit together then we’d be DEAD now! How else would I have known to run down to the river? 

Spock pursed his lips, but didn’t speak, and Jim fairly crowed in silent triumph!

“Come on,” he patted the bed beside him... “We’ve got about 15 minutes before Bones is back on his rounds...” 

Spock did not smile, but neither did he speak, as his mouth was occupied with other quite distracting matters...

*******

**Present Day**

 

Three and a half calendar months (‘118.8 days, to be accurate, Jim’) after the start of what would rather inadvertently become a ‘secret’ relationship... and just _under_ eight short minutes before a massive verbal faux pas totally ‘outed’ them... Jim and Spock were both on the bridge and feeling satisfied at the way their morning had gone, so far. 

_‘Okay,’_ Jim thought, _‘We had had a bit of a hiccup when Spock found my ancient ‘panty collection’, in my sock drawer, but really... that was GOOD - because it made us talk about jealousy...'_ They had talked about their jealous natures. Well, _Jim_ had, but he somehow knew it all went both ways...this, 'Jim and Spock' _(Spock and Jim)_ was going to be so AWESOME!’ 

A few short minutes later, they found themselves standing back to back, on the bridge, unarmed and eyeing a number of unwelcome guests with displeasure... 

_‘Who could even make this stuff UP?'_ , wondered Jim. 

“D’Varek Senk... there you are, you and your furry robes. We almost missed you!”

“You are most amusing, Captain. I simply could not stay away.” 

“Hmmm. Spock?” 

“Yes, Jim?”

“The ship, the crew, and then... you? Yes?”

“Yes, Jim, that is our prior agreement. Let us begin.”

Jim grinned, like a madman, and Spock raised _both_ eyebrows, at the intruders...

The faces of the aliens around them showed some confusion, at the strange demeanour of this Federation crew...and then... well, THEN all hell broke loose...

*******

Spock turned to Jim, minutes after the melee had started, and swiftly ended... and his eyes widened at the sight of his T’hy’la, blood running down his chin and one of his arms obviously fractured below the elbow...

He stepped forward, as did Jim, who reached for him and wrapped his unbroken arm around Spock’s neck... he grinned into his face, only inches away, the red blood shining brightly on his lips and teeth.

“Captain, the doctor must attend to you. Immediately...” there was a hoarse warning in Spock’s voice.

Spock felt Jim’s weight increase, as his knees buckled slightly, but the manic grin didn’t fade.

“Ji-- Captain!” he said, urgently, “You require medical attention.” Although he kept his gaze locked upon Jim’s face he tilted his head slightly, in the direction of Dr McCoy, now twitching with agitation behind his right shoulder.

Jim’s eye’s rolled and started to lose focus... and as they began to dull, Spock caught him under the arms and around his waist as his legs finally gave way, hoisting him up hard against his own body.

“Hey!” Jim slurred “M’right, Spock, we showed ‘em, baby...”

Spock’s spine stiffened and he was suddenly hyper aware of the utterly still silence on the Bridge. Maybe... his mind frantically ran through the options of how to deflect Jim’s comment... then Jim’s hand came up, to rest on Spock’s mouth before pulling his lower lip down, stroking almost tenderly, as it fell, and... Spock let his lips fall open, as always, under Jim’s touch.

“M’okay... Hey, sweetheart, gimme my cute smile, now, s... swee... ” then Jim’s eyes rolled up completely, his head lolled back and he was unconscious. Aside from his obvious concern for Jim’s welfare, Spock felt suddenly very alone and... most horribly exposed. 

McCoy immediately elbowed his way forward, shouting at the top of his... suddenly very Southern voice. “Get outta my Goddamn way, ‘Goblin! Put him on the ever-lovin’ floor! You! Over there! Don’t just stand there, get me a STRETCHER! And you, moron, call down to Medbay and get them to prep a theatre, stat, this is going to take some fixin’...” 

Spock stared at McCoy as the CMO’s eyes looked for a new target...

“You! Yes, I’m lookin’ at YOU, you great brainless lump of brawn muscle in a red shirt! I’m a doctor not a Goddamn weightlifter! Get this garbage down to the brig!” he shouted, gesturing wildly (and a bit roughly) at the fallen bodies of the intruders, with his boot... 

The Bridge, within a matter of brief seconds, became a hive of activity and noise as everyone sprang into coordinated action. McCoy glared at Spock, very meaningfully, and even the Vulcan was able to recognise the attempt to help him to cover up recent events, in the current confusion... 

Spock hesitated for a moment then threw caution to the wind and, as he lowered Jim to the deck, he swept the dirty blonde hair back from his bruised forehead and pressed his lips there.... then he moved them to Jim’s ear and whispered... “You are NOT dying, Ashayam. I forbid it and so... I will save my smile for another time...”

He stood and took a step back. McCoy saluted him with two fingers (ironically, no doubt, as he also added an unnecessary half bow to the gesture) then he said... “See you on the other side, Spock, but I don’t wanna see any of that smiling shit... the thought of it makes my goddamn skin crawl...” McCoy smirked hugely as he followed the gurney to the turbolift....

*******

 

Come on,” Jim patted the bed beside him, as Spock experienced a sense of déjá vu, “we’ve got that whole peacekeeping thing on ‘Planet Blah Blah’, coming up...”

“The planet is more commonly known as ‘Blahnara’, Jim.” Spock stated, mildly, as he settled himself on the biobed next to his mate and attempted to ignore (in this semi private space) the way that Jim’s arms wound around his middle and the soft blond hair settled against his chest. “This is a most interesting mission, Jim, the inhabitants are quite _fascinating_ ...some surprisingly intelligent but displaying violent tendencies, others more numerous but peaceful; all share some similarities with species of Earth’s own ancient history... the Pleistocene era, in particular...” Spock’s thumb idly circled the back of Jim’s hand, “would be comparable, perhaps.” 

“Yeah, yeah... I’m totally on top of this, Spock. Stick with me, Sweetheart, and you’ll be okay...” 

Unseen by Jim, Spock... smiled.

And then the title screen opened up, **‘JURASSIC PARK’** , and his expression blanked....

**Author's Note:**

> It's quite a long time since I posted this, in a haze of blind panic and 'exam/fic posting deadline anxiety' (and general psychotic mania)... and, since then, there have been 'kudos' left which I have no way to respond to. Can I just say a MASSIVE thank you to everyone who has hit that button? (massive) **THANK YOU!!!** :-)


End file.
